


Lies and Illusions

by fajrdrako



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:30:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/pseuds/fajrdrako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto knows love is not real. Until it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies and Illusions

There were three lies Ianto liked to tell himself. He knew they were lies, in the way that fantasies are lies. In the way it's a lie when you tell yourself "everything's going to be all right" even when you know that the cannibal is about to carve your flesh.

These lies were that kind of lie because he couldn't be sure they wouldn't come true. He had to keep reminding himself they were lies, even when he believed them. And he couldn't help believing them. That was the sad part.

The first lie was that contact with Jack was changing him. Every time they touched, every kiss, every needy caress, every fuck, every cry of lust - he wanted to believe that it was making him into something different. Someone different. Someone braver than he was, someone smarter, someone who could laugh at danger make his own rules. Someone who could talk to aliens without feeling the strangeness of it. Someone who never seemed to age, never got sick, never slept.

Someone more like Jack.

At the same time he knew that was all a delusion - not just the idea that he could be like Jack, but that Jack was like that in the first place. Jack was remarkable, but he was only human. Time would eventually age him, as it did everyone. Eventually he would succumb to a virus or cancer or heart failure - oh, the ironies in that thought! - just like everyone else. He did sleep; everyone slept; it must be just that he didn't like anyone to see him do it. Even Ianto. Ianto didn't know why. An old military habit, perhaps?

It wouldn't be surprising, if Jack had bad dreams.

Being Jack really wasn't a contagious condition. Jack had come by his own learning the hard way, by experience, just like everyone else. Esoteric knowledge of alien cultures had come from contact with them - however mysterious Jack might be about it, Ianto knew enough to know there was nothing supernatural there. Jack had a knack for making people want to talk to him, and it seemed to extend to aliens. 

Not all of Jack's alien lore came from meeting extraterrestrials. The rest came from the strange wristband computer he wore. Goodness knows where he'd got it; Ianto had a theory there was some fateful game of poker in his past. No wonder Jack wouldn't admit it. Who'd want to tell anyone that they'd based their career on unique expertise that came from a gadget he'd won in a card game?

Ianto knew he could learn from Jack, as he could from anyone. There was no way skin-to-skin contact would give him special insight into the future, or into alien cultures. He wasn't even Jack's chosen acolyte, singled out for special training. If anyone had that role, it was Gwen. The only things he was teaching Ianto that he wasn't also teaching Tosh, Owen, and Gwen, were the things they did in bed. Or, well, other places. And Ianto wasn't sure Jack wouldn't share the same intimacy with them too, if circumstances were a little different. Luckily Ianto had propositioned Jack at the right time, for the right reasons.

That was all it boiled down to.

Maybe.

Because that was the second, cruellest lie: his belief that Jack loved him.

It was all the more cruel because Jack did love him. He saw it in his eyes sometimes, when he caught Jack glancing at him across the Hub. He heard it in his voice when Jack murmured filthy suggestions in his ear. He felt it in his touch when Jack took special care - as he often did - to bring Ianto to unimaginable sexual heights. 

Worst of all, Jack sometimes said it. He was not stingy with his affections. "I love you, Ianto," he'd say, laughing, when Ianto brought him a cup of coffee after he'd been working intensely for hours. He'd say it with a glance that made it sound particularly lewd. Or with simple affection, sometimes, in bed. And it was sincere. That was scarier still.

But what did he mean by it? Not commitment. No intentions for future cohabitation, no implication of fidelity, no kind of deep bond. it didn't even mean Ianto came first with him. His love was warm and sincere, but he might give as much to any personable alien who had fallen into his path - and he'd done so, or claimed he had.

"Have you really had sex with aliens?" Ianto had asked him once, in bed.

"Sure," Jack had replied. "So has Tosh. Owen probably has, without even knowing it. Not so unusual - most aliens are as randy as anyone. And curious! They all want to know what sex with a human is like. We have a reputation, you know. If you'd played your cards right, you could have had Carys."

"Missed my big chance," said Ianto. "Too bad. Now I'm stuck with the Weevils." That made Jack laugh.

Once, Ianto had been brave (or reckless) enough to ask, "Have you ever loved an alien?" It was the kind of question Gwen might ask. Jack didn't answer. He didn't answer, either, when asked, "Have you ever loved?" Because love in that sense, whatever that might be, was something Jack didn't talk about. Ever.

So what did his love mean? Something more than "nothing" and less than "everything". Jack was not ready to share himself, except physically. His love was wide and diffuse and important to him, but in some ways, not even personal. He loved all his Torchwood team, it just happened to be that Ianto was the one he was shagging.

Ianto was ready to fight for Jack's love, but he didn't know who or what he was up against. Jack's fears and dreams for the twenty-first century? Beautiful aliens with alluring high-tech toys? He didn't even know whether to watch out for men or women. 

Was Ianto the only person Jack was shagging now? He didn't know, and was afraid to ask. He lived on unspoken trust, except it wasn't really trust. Jack could and would do whatever he wished. Ianto was living on faith. Whatever Jack did, he could accept it. 

He had to ignore a lot of fears, but he could to do that. It was worth it for the times Jack turned that magnificent smile on him and pulled him into his arms. Worth it whenever Jack demonstrated another sexual act for his pleasure - Ianto learned not to ask too much about where he learned these things. The first time he said, "Where'd you learn that?" Jack had answered, "India."

Simple enough. But the next time, Jack had said, "It's a little trick I picked up in the K'mjala Galaxy," with a mischievous smile that dared Ianto to believe him. The planets and species he mentioned all sounded like Star Trek rejects and Ianto took the hint, and stopped asking. If Jack wouldn't tell him the truth, it wasn't for him to pry. I don't want to know about his sexual past, he told himself. I already know too much.

That was only half a lie, and didn't count.

The third lie was the one about himself: I can do without him. When Jack moved on (and he would), Ianto would move on too, find someone else, make a good life with them. Life would go on. This was an exciting interlude to be enjoyed while it lasted, nothing more. 

When Jack left him, he could handle it. No problem. He was prepared. 

Maybe.

(Because how do you prepare yourself for the unbearable?)


End file.
